


It's darker in the shadows

by MsPeppernose



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPeppernose/pseuds/MsPeppernose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not an easy thing to do, losing his mind and then getting handed it back a long time later, having to sift through all the memories of things that he’s been forced to do. So all things considered, when Bucky weighs it up, he thinks he’s not doing too badly.</p>
<p>Or, with Steve's help, Bucky tries to transition into some sort of normality. Despite a head full of demons and a gruelling training schedule, Bucky can begin to feel a pull towards Steve that anchors him to his new life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's darker in the shadows

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to @coastingon-potential for beta and @rosiedoestumblr for help with my ending. You are both wonderful!
> 
> This was the first fic with these silly boys that I started writing and I've abandoned it several times over the last few months.

It’s not an easy thing to do, losing his mind and then getting handed it back a long time later, having to sift through all the memories of things that he’s been forced to do. So all things considered, when Bucky weighs it up, he thinks he’s not doing too badly.

It feels surreal to transition from internationally wanted man, recluse and brainwashed assassin, to living in cosy quarters in Avengers Tower where people actually seem to care about his well-being and not just whether he’s fit enough to be sent on another mission. It feels odd to process - Bucky didn’t quite trust it at first, because he’s used to people being nice to him only when they want something. It’s felt okay though, as he’s let himself drop his guard little by little, and the fact that Steve has been by his side the whole time has made everything that much easier.

Though as well as Bucky thinks he’s doing so far, as many times as he tells Steve this, Steve never fully believes him. There’s a concerned crinkle in his brow and a look in his eyes that gives him away. That’s Steve all over though: he has to be sure.

So Bucky’s been trying to get himself back in the world, bit by bit, without hiding out, because there really is a lot to get used to.

Having his own brain back to use as he pleases is like being given something precious and dangerous to take care of. After so long without the responsibility of self care, or making his own decisions for himself, it feels like a heavy weight as well as a sweet release of freedom.

Bucky tries not to let anxiety fill his head, but the fear that whatever was put in there by Zola and Pierce and anyone else, could still be there lying in wait is ever present. He’s learning to process and work through all the horrors of the past as well as dealing with the present, but it’s far from easy.

There are moments when Bucky forgets that he’s not a puppet any more, that he doesn’t have to take orders, doesn’t have to follow what people say. However, when it comes to Steve he doesn’t mind following orders so much because he understands that Steve has his best interests at heart.

Steve’s been trying his damndest to help Bucky in his own way, and Bucky feels like it falls into two different categories: body and mind. 

For Bucky’s mind, Steve has suggested that he do hours of meditation and even yoga, which Bucky doesn’t mind per se. The meditation is useful. It helps him slow things down when his mind is going too fast or when memories are slipping back to the awful things he’s done - or things that have been done to him.

It helps a little, and he’ll take any help he can get.

Bucky’s also learning to relax with hobbies, which is something he didn’t even do much of before the war, before everything. And although he wasn’t frozen the entire time like Steve was, he was kind of busy, what with the whole being-locked-up-and-forced-to-kill-people- _thing,_ so he has a fair amount of popular culture to catch up with. It’s nice that he and Steve are learning some of those things together.

It occasionally feels like the blind leading the blind, but they muddle through some of the needlessly complex tech that Tony provides each of them. Some of it is pretty cool, some of it Bucky just dumps in his wardrobe, not likely to be looked at again.

They’re working their way through a laundry list of pop culture things like movies and music and endless television shows, not to mention all of the historical events they’ve both missed out on due to being out of action.

It’s not easy for Bucky to get his head around it all, but he’s getting there, and it helps that Steve is right there with him.

The _body_ side of Steve’s plan involves Bucky getting a handle on his strength and learning to control his anger, his force, which has a way of slipping back into play when he’s fighting, even if he doesn’t mean it to.

Bucky’s used to following orders that nine times out of ten involved the end game being a kill. This is not the way Steve wants things to go down from now on; killing is only done when absolutely necessary. Bucky agrees in a way, and though he thinks he can handle himself and _mostly_ trust himself not to kill people who should be captured or just knocked out instead, he figures it’s no harm to do the training with Steve. What’s the harm in sparring with Captain America on a daily basis anyway? It’s pretty fucking good for his ego if he wins.

“You need to get used to stopping before the kill, and I know you’re not going to kill me,” Steve says.

And though he’s right, Bucky teases, “You sure about that?”

“Well, I’d like to see you try.” There’s a hint of a smirk there, an arrogance that comes from someone who is not full of themselves, but someone used to winning because that’s what has to be done. “You’re never going to get that far, Bucky.”

Bucky snorts in reply because he can’t help it. He knows that he and Steve always had this camaraderie, this back and forth and teasing, and it gives him a warm feeling in his stomach when he does it. The warmth startles him at first, like he’s sure that those years spent strapped to a cold metal chair should have conditioned this feeling out of him. But sure enough the warmth grows when Steve smiles a reassuring smile and beckons him forward with his hand. “Come on then Barnes, show me what you got. You need to not hold back during the fight; you need to try to beat me - pin me to the mat to win, and then stop. Okay?”

“Sure. Easy.”

But it’s not easy, not as easy as Bucky was expecting anyway. Steve is quick and strong - of course he is, he’s Captain Fucking America - and they’re pretty evenly matched, even if Bucky’s super serum was of the off-brand variety.

They go through the motions for the first few moments, getting a feel for each other. They’ve fought before, but Bucky was under influence back then so it feels different to see Steve as an equal competitor and just not a mark to be taken down.

Bucky circles him, _eyeing_ him, weighing him up. He wants to find Steve’s weakness, but then Bucky’s not sure that Steve actually has one. He takes a blind swing in Steve’s direction, hoping Steve will give away which way he leans when he dodges, but when Bucky swings again Steve moves the other way.

It’s a fairly standard training match, both getting decent hits in, both dodging a handful each until Bucky catches the tail end of a pretty hard kick to the ribs. He ducks almost out of the way, so it would have been much worse full-force, but it throws his concentration and lets Steve get the upper hand. Bucky ends up with Steve’s stupidly huge arm right the way around his chest, pinning his metal arm - his stronger arm - against his torso. His forearm is free enough that he can grip silver fingers into Steve’s skin, a meagre attempt to pry it off him. It’s a struggle that Bucky almost wins but Steve catches Bucky’s other arm and bends it around his back so that Bucky’s at a loss.

Bucky’s breathing hard through his nose - fuming mad that Steve’s almost winning, but there’s something else too, something that feels oddly nice to be straining against Steve’s strong arms.

He pushes back against Steve’s hold, gripping his fingers around his arm tighter and tighter. He closes the grip of his metallic hand a fraction further and Steve groans from the exertion of strength he’s using to keep Buck in place. Bucky’s stomach clenches and he’s sure it’s from adrenaline and nothing more, but he uses that moment to fuel him, to grip Steve’s arm extra hard and bend forward at the same time, using his weight and the force to free his arm and throw Steve.

Despite Steve’s size and strength, he goes over, and Bucky thinks _This is it, I have him_ , but because Steve is like a cat and always lands on his feet, he tumbles gracefully, pulling Bucky to the floor with him.

Bucky’s on the mat and his shoulder aches from the thud of the fall, but he manages to scramble and get his leg over Steve’s waist and climb on top. Steve huffs a laugh like it’s funny that he’s about to lose - and Bucky is sure the Steve is about to lose - when Steve bucks up against Bucky and rolls him easily onto his back.

Bucky gets a hand free and brings it up to Steve’s throat. He applies enough pressure that Steve’s eyes go wide, his face turns red, and he chokes out, “Can’t try to kill me, remember?”

Bucky huffs out a “Fine,” and pushes his silver palm upwards against Steve’s chest instead, trying to push him off, but Steve removes it by prying it finger by finger off of him and forces it down towards the mat.

Bucky fights to keep his hands free from Steve’s grip, thinks if he can push his hand in Steve’s face - or better yet, get a grip on Steve’s throat again - he can unbalance Steve and get the upper hand. But Steve’s holding one of Bucky’s wrists down hard, flush against the floor and Bucky has to take a second.

Bucky breaths hard and takes in his surrounding, trying to use some of that meditation that Steve’s been teaching him. Maybe it can help him beat the living crap out of Steve.

He does a body check and takes note that his thighs are burning, his heart is hammering, his lungs are screaming, but none of these are out of the ordinary. They all come with the delicious fire in his veins that he knows as adrenaline. There’s something else though: the heat of Steve’s body through his sweats, the pulse of Steve’s heart thumping and thumping, the snug fit of Steve’s thighs where he’s holding Bucky down.

There’s a flash of something on Steve’s face, something there that’s so small and that vanishes so fast that Bucky’s sure he’s imagined it. Perhaps it’s an unasked question as to why Bucky has momentarily stopped fighting to fucking meditate, but once Bucky sees it, he can’t concentrate.

He half-heartedly struggles under Steve and it’s more like writhing than fighting back, but his fire is dwindling and he uses his free hand to tap the mat twice. He’s out.

Steve frowns, searching Bucky’s face. “You’re tapping out? Already? Jeez, Buck.” He swings his leg off of Bucky and sits on his heels on the mat beside him, looking down as Bucky just lies on the floor motionless. “You’re tapping out because you can’t fight me without trying to choke me?”

Not quite. “Thought I’d go easy on you today, Steve. Don’t want to ruin Captain America’s hair.”

Steve laughs, still a little breathless from the fight. “Right,” he says, disbelieving. “Tomorrow. You, me and this mat have a date.”

Bucky remains on the floor watching Steve collect his water bottle and his towel. He watches as Steve leaves the gym with a quick smile in Bucky’s direction. Bucky then takes to the punch bag to take his frustrations out and try to figure a way to beat Steve tomorrow.

*

It hasn’t happened in quite a few days; the glimpse of a dark, hot room, faceless people, metal implements, undecipherable sounds. A flashback. Sometimes there’s days between them, sometimes weeks. The longer the gap, the more Bucky holds out hope that perhaps they’re gone for good, but they never are.

And when one of those flashbacks hit they take Bucky down, way down.

He gets one in the middle of the gym, and thankfully it’s just him and Steve there because Bucky can’t handle looking vulnerable in front of anyone right now.

Bucky’s burning rubber on the treadmill when he gets a flash of too-hot, too-bright, too-loud, too-everything, and though he tries to shake himself free of it and keep running, it doesn’t work. He hits the pause button on the display almost too late and stumbles as the belt slows down. He holds on to the side bars with both hands and closes his eyes trying to shake the image away and keep his brain the gym where his body is, where Steve is. The image turns to a blinding light with just dark behind it, blocking out anything he might be able to make sense of. He can’t see the faces, but he can _feel_ them watching him.

He feels a hand, warm and strong, on his shoulder, but because he’s disoriented his instinct is _Fight!_ He lashes out, getting two, three, four decent hits in before he realises it’s Steve who has his hand on his shoulder. It’s Steve who’s trying to comfort him. He stops mid-hit, slowing his hand enough for Steve to catch his fist, and he’d feel silly if this was anyone else, but Steve understands.

“Whoa, there. I got ya,” Steve says, his voice gentle, like someone trying not to spook a horse.

“Sorry, I-”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Steve says, guiding Bucky away from the treadmill to a bench by the wall. “Sit. What was that?”

Bucky says nothing. His veins are still pumping adrenaline as he tries to sit still, to calm himself. He concentrates on his breathing, attempting to make it go from fast and shallow to slower and more conscious. He feels Steve’s hand on his shoulder again, and he flinches at first because he’s not sure he’s ready for human contact just yet. But this is Steve, _his_ Steve, so he tries to relax and lets the touch ground him.

He counts twenty full breaths before every screed of the flashback has left vision. It’s then he realises he’s shaking, and he stills his trembling fingers by holding onto the bench so tight that his knuckles on his skin covered hand turn white and the bench creaks a complaint.

“Hey. Hey, Bucks. Look at me.”

Bucky’s still staring at the spot of floor between his knees and it takes him too long to break the stare and turn his head to look at Steve. There’s such kindness in Steve’s eyes that it’s a distraction for a few seconds at least.

“You’re safe.” And Bucky knows this. He knows he’s safe, he knows that Avengers Tower is lightyears away from the hell he’s been through, but that doesn’t mean his mind doesn’t send him back. He has a long way to go and a lot of work to do to figure this whole thing out, but he knows he’s physically safe, especially with people like Steve around.

“Yeah, I know, Steve. I’m fine.” It’s only partly a lie, he’s still shaken, still not quite right, but he doesn’t feel quite as bleak now. It always passes eventually.

“You’re not. Hit the showers.”

“What about sparring today?” Bucky was actually quite looking forward to working off some steam with Steve, even if today his mind not be fully in the game anymore.

“It’s cancelled for today.”

“You afraid you gonna lose?” Bucky says, and manages a little smirk. Of course it’s easier to switch the mood back to a lighter one, to pretend he’s fine and that it’s not a _thing_ , for now at least; he knows Steve worries so.

“Yeah, tomorrow though, it’ll be a different story.” There’s a smile accompanying Steve’s words, and it stirs something inside Bucky’s, something that he might have felt a long time ago. “But come over later? We can hang out. Cross a few more must-see movies off our list?”

“Count on it,” he manages, before he drags himself towards the locker room for the hottest shower he can stand without burning his skin off, or melting his arm.

 

*

The nights that they spend together on Steve’s big couch, or Bucky’s smaller one, are some of Bucky’s favourite times.

He really is quite clueless about pop-culture, though Steve is as bad and it’s a comfort as they both try to get to grips with things that everyone else seems to take for granted.

Steve was the one that started it; he has a rolling list of must-see movies that never gets smaller even when he watches things, because there’s always a further recommendation that will take its place.

Bucky tries to contribute too though, so he jots down movie titles when he overhears animated conversations about something funny or action-packed.

They were both quite happy to find out that there’s a lot more Hitchcock movies to see, far beyond to ones they’d watched together before the war. They’ve watched all of the Harry Potter movies, all of the Lord of the Rings movies and the entire boxset of Friends. Tonight is the first Die Hard, something that’s been on the list for a while. Recommended by several people, most notably Clint, Bucky thinks it’s worth a shot, and neither of them are disappointed. It’s delightfully mindless action, with excessive testosterone-fuelled fight scenes and over-the-top stunts. Nothing either of them haven’t done in real life too, which is a nice bonus and means they have plenty to comment on over the duration of it.

Steve looks happy and relaxed with his feet up on his coffee table and a beer in his hand by the end of it. Bucky feels relaxed too, and these are moments he savours because there really isn’t enough of them.

“How’d we ever amuse ourselves without on-demand movies and hundreds of television stations?” Bucky muses.

“We didn’t know any better. We read. I drew a lot. You had an endless string of dames that took up a lot of your time.”

Bucky laughs. “Wasn’t endless, but I guess it’s true. There are no girls these days. There aren’t really any girls interested in a former brainwashed assassin-”

“Are you sure? I’ll admit I haven’t gone into the depths of the internet, but there seems to be people into everyone these days.”

Bucky shakes his head, disbelieving. “I’ll pass. There must be plenty of girls ready to throw themselves at Captain America though, right?”

Steve definitely blushes and it’s adorable. He shifts on the couch looking less comfortable that he was. “I dunno, man. I don’t really buy into any of that. I know Tony has legions of fans, but I, uh-”

“You’re not doing it for the glory,” Bucky finishes, and he’s not surprised that Steve hasn’t changed in all these years. “I know. You’re a good guy, Steve.” His tone is maybe a little too solemn, the moment a little too serious for what started as goofing around, but Bucky means it. He breaks their silence, changing the subject, knowing it’s late. “I should take off.”

“I’d say be careful getting home, but I think I’d fear for the safety of the mugger more than you.”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, maybe. But I’ll watch my back anyway.”

“You better. You still want to train tomorrow?” Steve bumps his shoulder against Bucky’s and Bucky grins.

“Yeah. We can do that.”

“You know,” Steve says, pulling at the corner of the label on his beer bottle, “if you were up to it, and after we’ve done extensive training, have you thought about coming out on some missions?”

Bucky’s grin fades because that feels like a big step. Of course he’s worked on missions before, but on the other side, the bad-guy side, the side that S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers were there to stop.

“Um,” he says, shifting on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to,” Steve says quickly, astute as ever. “But you could start off small. A little recon. Nothing too stressful.”

“I don’t know if I’d trust myself, Steve. I mean-”

“I trust you.”

Though Bucky’s stomach swoops down when he hears Steve speak of trust, he’s almost mad at him for trusting him so fully, so blindly, when neither of them know if Bucky would be reliable or mentally stable enough for field work. “Is that even enough?” he asks.

“With a little bit more work, yes. I think it is.” Steve gives Bucky such a fond look that Buck’s heart beats faster. “And I’ll be with you all the way.”

Steve sounds so sure that Bucky believes him, even if it’s just for a moment, even if it’ll wear off on his journey home.

As Steve locks eyes with him, Bucky has that feeling again - the one that feels weird and nice in his chest, like nostalgia but warmer, better. It feels like home, but he can’t articulate that, can’t even begin to, so he clears his throat and shifts in his seat, a little embarrassed by how much it takes him over. “I’ll take off then,” he says again. “But training tomorrow.”

He gets up off the couch before he can change his mind and ask Steve if he can sleep over, curled in a ball on the couch cushions with a borrowed blanket over him, safe in the knowledge that Steve would be asleep on the other side of the wall. Bucky slept on this very couch more than a few times right at the start, when he trusted no one else but Steve, not even the rest of the Avengers. It took him weeks to move from Steve’s couch to his own little place in Avengers tower. He knows it’s healthy to cut the cord and be on his own, but he misses Steve’s constant company sometimes.

It made him feel better back then and Steve never said no.

Bucky needs to go though, so with not much ceremony he grabs his jacket and stands at the door. “Tomorrow.”

“Night, Bucky.”

“G’night,” Bucky says, and thinks about that feeling in his chest the entire way home.

*

When Steve’s away on a mission, Bucky is left to his own devices, and while it’s not as if Bucky spends every second of the day with Steve, his absence definitely has an effect on Bucky.

He’s gotten very used to his near-daily sparring and training together, to the company and camaraderie of spending time with someone who’s been a friend since forever, and who may end up Bucky’s teammate if things go well.

Bucky trains with some of the other guys when Steve’s not there, but it’s not quite the same. At first he thinks that it’s because Sam and Clint and Natasha are not super soldiers like Steve, not quite matched to the strength that Bucky’s arm can muster. That’s partly the case, and Bucky finds himself a little bored during his matches with any of them even though they can all hold their own, in their own way. (Natasha doesn’t quite count because some days she kicks his ass from here to Sunday, but he can still take her, in theory at least.)

After a couple of days of going through the motions he starts to think differently. It’s not just that he misses the challenge of fighting Steve and his super strength, not just that he misses Steve putting Bucky through his paces every other day, it’s that Bucky misses _Steve_.

And of course he does, they’re friends, always have been, and they’re closer now that they were before the war because they have all this shared life experience that no one else could really understand.

But it’s more than that, too.

While Bucky’s knocking the stuffing out of a punchbag, alone in the gym, he uses the time to try to sort through his thoughts.

He knows that he and Steve were as close as could be before the war. He knows they grew up together, always had each other’s backs. He knows they lived together. He knows that Steve saved him on more than one occasion during the war. He knows these things both from Steve telling him and from piecing together bits of his hazy memories.

When all of those terrible things were planted in his head, he lost almost all of himself. The only thing that remained was a spark of hope that one day he might get out - that it would be over, one way or another. That spark was fleeting and not consistent, and more often than not he just gave himself over and complied with those terrible things he did.

With all of that being planted in his head, he doesn’t always trust what he remembers, unsure if it’s been scrambled by brainwashing, or if he’s just putting memories together in the wrong order.

But there’s a tiny ember of something that enters his head sometimes, and it’s of being happy with Steve. And he _wants_ to trust that feeling, wants to believe that it’s a long running thing that he hasn’t just made up recently. It could easily be some sort of Florence Nightingale thing where Bucky has developed feelings for someone taking care of him, but those hazy memories come through enough to make him believe it’s more than that.

He wants it to be. It has to be.

*

_Bucky’s on his back and pinned down at the waist and the wrists. He could try to wriggle free, push against the hold, but he knows there’s no need to fight it. This isn’t the sort of pinned down that’s sinister or likely to do him any harm._ He likes this. __

_His eyes are focussed on the ceiling above him but a tilt of his head shows mussed up blond hair that’s moving slowly down Buck’s torso. A further glance confirms what Bucky already knew; It’s Steve, of course, and he’s making a slow trail of wet kisses down Bucky’s chest. Bucky fights a shiver as Steve’s mouth closes over his nipple and licks at it, teasing it with his tongue until Bucky can’t help but moan. His hips push up involuntarily, but they don’t get very far, what with Steve straddling them, holding him in place._

_“Fuck, Steve. Come on.” He doesn’t even really know what he’s begging for, he just wants more of it, and right now._

_“Patience is a virtue, Bucky.”_

_There’s a smirk in Steve’s voice, muffled by skin as it is. Bucky wants to take Steve by a handful of his fair hair and kiss that smirk right off his face, but Steve’s got his hands wrapped tightly around Bucky’s wrists and that feels good too._

_He tunes into his body like Steve taught him, and takes note of the gorgeous sensation of being naked under Steve, the sweat behind his knees, the tingle in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach, how hard and aching his cock is, and the sparks that go off behind his eyes every time Steve brushes against the sensitive skin._

_Steve moves now, sits back upright and lets go of Bucky’s wrists. Bucky flexes his hands, though it’s not like they hurt from being held down, and he realises it’s because he’s itching to get his hands on Steve’s body._

_He watches Steve watching him, such intensity passing between them, and though he doesn’t seem quite as far gone as Bucky is, he’s flushed and hard and fucking gorgeous. Bucky’s hands go to Steve’s hips to hold him there because all he wants is to touch Steve and be touched._

_He trails his fingers over Steve’s abs, his chest, watching Steve bite his lip as he does so. And then Bucky can’t wait any longer, he curls one hand around Steve’s neck to pull him down for a searing hot kiss. Bucky lets out a deep, satisfied groan which Steve swallows, licking into Bucky’s mouth with a clever tongue._

_As Bucky runs a hand up over Steve’s back to thread into the hair at the back of his neck, he feels both content and so turned on he could scream. The only thing ruining this, is the little electronic beep that he’s vaguely aware of. It’s somewhere in the background, and he’s distracted by Steve’s broad shoulders, muscles twitching under Bucky’s fingers, so it takes him a long moment for his brain to compute that the beeping is an alarm._

His alarm. His wake-up alarm for training.

Once his brain latches on to that fact, everything changes and Bucky’s mind comes back to reality, leaving what he now knows as a really delicious dream behind him.

He’s alone in his bed, sweat-soaked and hard, and mourning the fact that what he just experienced was his overactive subconscious trying to torture him - like he doesn’t have enough to think about.

He’s still painfully, achingly turned on, so he gives in and wraps his hand around himself. The last erotic thought he had was of Steve, and while it’s pretty creepy to jerk off thinking about his friend, he’s certain that he could do worse things, so what harm?

He indulges and thinks of Steve all over him again, naked and aroused, lips parted and panting out short breaths.

The Steve that everyone knows as Captain America can come across so serious and stoic, someone who carries the world’s problems on his shoulders, sometimes quite literally. But Bucky has vague memories of Steve before all of that - the kid without responsibility, who laughed easily, who was his kind friend that got into all sorts of stupid teenage mischief with. He thinks of that, that _real_ Steve - that and the warmth he’s been feeling deep inside him when Steve smiles at him, and the heat he’s felt twitch low in his abdomen when Steve’s held him down, the way Steve has been all over him during their sparring matches.

Bucky’s hand moves so fast now, and he’s so close to coming. He thinks again of his dream and of Steve pinning him down and kissing him deep, their hard cocks pressed together. Then his mind fills in the blanks for him, and he realises that the dream was not to torture him, but maybe show him the way. He wants to do all of that with Steve, he wants more than just that though too; he wants _Steve_ , and once he thinks that he comes, in hot, thick stripes over his hand.

He lies there, sweat and come drying in the cool air, trying not to overthink, trying not to think at all. He lies there until his skin is covered in goosebumps and he knows he should move.

His alarm went off for a reason, he has a training session with Natasha today. He hauls himself to the shower, knowing Nat doesn’t tolerate lateness. He’s thankful it’s not Steve he’ll be training with today, and wishing it was at the same time.

By the time he gets to the gym, his head is fuzzy and he’s most definitely distracted.

He tries to be methodical about his thought process, like Steve and his therapist taught him, and tries to process what went down this morning.

He realises that his head is too full of everything to concentrate right around the time he gets a sharp kick to the chest for the second time, forcing to almost topple backwards.

“What’s up with you today, Barnes?”

“Nothin’,” Bucky lies, shaking it off, putting his guard up again.

“Well that’s clearly a lie. I know I’m not Cap but I promised him I’d put you through your paces.” She scoffs then. “You’re not even trying.”

While most people would be quite happy to have a semi-easy opponent, Natasha is not most people. “I have a lot on my mind,” he says, hoping that’s the end of it.

They fight again, but not for long. Bucky gets a few decent hits in before Natasha floors him, end up sitting on his chest, hand to his throat. She smirks as she climbs off, a smirk that Bucky has quickly learned to mean that she’s damn right and she knows it.

“Yeah, I can see that you’ve got a lot going on. Though maybe you just suck today. Ever thought of talking about it?”

“I don’t think I-- Yeah, I guess I should,” he says from the floor, even if the thought is a little mind boggling. He picks himself up and stretches out his arms and back, ready to fight again. “I don’t know where to start.”

Natasha raises a perfect eyebrow. “I didn’t mean specifically mean to talk it out with me. I’m just here to keep an eye on you.”

“He asked you to-?” Bucky cuts himself off because he knows the answer. Of course Steve wouldn’t take off on a mission, not knowing when he’d be back, without having someone check on Bucky. Bucky should possibly feel insulted, because he doesn’t need a babysitter - fucking badass super-assassin right here, thank you - but instead he has that warmth in his chest again knowing Steve is looking out for him. His face must give something away about his thoughts - maybe his poker face needs some training too - and there’s that smirk back on Natasha’s lips.

“Of course he wants someone to keep an eye on you. You know Cap better than anyone, so you know he worries.”

They get back into position to spar again. Natasha squares up and gets two quick jabs to Bucky’s ribs before he even sees them coming. “I know he worries. It’s not that. He worries about everyone, not just me,” he says. He hits back at Natasha, a strike to the head which Natasha easily blocks and a spinning kick that catches her hard on the side of her waist. It doesn’t break her stride - she goes straight back to and uppercut and hook combo to Bucky’s head that breaks his concentration and before he knows it his back is on the mat again.

Natasha’s sitting steady on his hips, and they’re fighting for control; Bucky to get her off of him, and Natasha to hold Bucky’s hands to the mat.

“Of course, he worries about everyone on the team. It’s what he does,” Natasha says. “But he worries about you a lot. You have a history with him. There was such a sense of relief when he found you, even if it’s not quite that simple. He worries about you. He wants to know that you’re doing okay, getting better.“ She grips her thighs and Bucky’s waist to hold him steady, to give her more purchase while she wrestles against Bucky’s metal arm. Nat might be an incredibly talented and highly skilled fighter, but Bucky has far more physical strength. He pushes up with his metal arm and bucks under her so that she’s rolled onto her back, Bucky pinning her down.

“Yeah, but that’s what friends do, I guess,” Bucky says. “That’s all.”

Natasha smirks, which would be strange for someone pinned down to a training mat with a large, formerly homicidal super soldier straddling her, but as always, the smirk means that she’s got one up on him.

“I knew it. I knew you and him were a thing.”

“No! What? We’re not-”

Bucky never finishes his sentence because Natasha uses his distracted confusion to push him off and roll him so that he’s face down, his right arm pulled painfully around his back.

“You are. You’re a thing. This is what’s wrong with you today, right? You miss him.”

Bucky tries to struggle but his shoulder stings when he twists, so he stays still for now. “We’re not a thing. Not at all.” He sighs. “But fine! You’re right. That’s what’s wrong with me. It’s not that Steve and I have any sort of thing going on, but maybe I’ve been thinking about him as more than just Steve lately, you know?”

“I see,” Natasha says, and even from Bucky’s position on the floor, he knows she’s still smirking.

She climbs off and kneels on the mat beside him while he picks himself up.

“What are you going to do about it?” she asks.

Bucky stares at her, because he’s obviously going to do absolutely nothing about it. How could he? “Not a thing. I can’t.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. He’d do anything for you.”

“Anything, like act normally around me when he knows I had a dirty dream about him.”

“That might be too many details for me, Barnes. Look, approach it like you would a mission.”

Bucky scoffs. He knows nothing about modern dating, but he knows that tactics, explosives and weapons won’t do him much good here. He’d take any amount of black ops missions over talking to Steve about _feelings_ , especially with Steve, especially because the situation has the potential to go so horribly wrong.

“What am I going to do; get him in a headlock until he agrees to go on a date with me? Because even if that was my plan, I train with him every day, and he can take me.” Natasha arches an eyebrow. “Sometimes,” he adds.

Natasha laughs, but she’s not laughing _at_ Bucky. “Have a plan. Go in ready. Be prepared.” She stands and grabs her water bottle. “I’m done for today. Think about it. Talk to him. See you tomorrow, Barnes. And you better be more mentally prepared tomorrow, because I won’t go easy on you again.”

Bucky watches her go and as he grabs his towel and water bottle, his shoulder twitches a complaint. He needs to get his head together or Natasha might end up killing him in training.

 

*  
Bucky spends the morning having a series of particularly harsh flashbacks. None of them last more than a couple minutes or so, but each one is _vivid_ , so vivid, and Bucky feels like he may as well have been cast backwards in time and across the world back into that room, with those people.

Today it’s all memories of being held down, _strapped_ down, unable to move, powerless. The worst thing about them is that when these things really happened he’d been conditioned - brainwashed - to think it was all fine and dandy and just part of his job that he had to do.

Every time he manages to shake off the memory, flashing and snarling in his brain, every time he calms himself using the techniques that Steve has been showing him, another memory will come crawling back, slightly different. Something else to think about.

He feels like he’s about to lose the plot when his phone vibrates a text message. He looks at it, because it’s a distraction from the hell swirling in his brain, and he’s pleasantly surprised to see that it’s a text from Steve; he’s back from his mission.

_Want to train?_ Steve’s text reads.

_Don’t you have to debrief?_

_already done. Down in the gym now J_

Steve’s over by the weights when Bucky gets to the gym, and he looks like he’s mid-way through a set of serious deadlifts. Bucky tries not to stare at the bulge in Steve’s arms, the raised vein that runs along his bicep as it curls. The barbell is stacked, and there’s a slight bend in it as Steve lifts. Steve’s eyes flicker to Bucky as Bucky walks towards him, but Steve’s face remains a picture of fierce determination and concentration as he finishes the last of his reps. He lets out a forceful grunt on his final rep, one that twists Bucky’s insides.

“Hey,” Steve says and he drops the barbell. It clatters loudly to the floor while he stretches up his arms. Of course his shirt rides up to show off his perfectly toned belly, of course it does.

“How was saving the world?” Bucky says. He keeps his tone light, tries to keep the joy out of his voice that Steve’s finally back. It’s been more weeks than Bucky cares to count since they’ve seen each other, and Steve looks as good as ever.

Steve shrugs, but there’s a smirk when he says, “Oh, you know.”

“Same old, same old?”

“Something like that. So, did you miss me?”

Bucky’s heart twinges at that question. _Of course_ he missed Steve, though he can’t explain as much. “I guess. Though it was nice getting my ass beat by Natasha for a change.”

Steve laughs. “She put you through your paces? Let me see. Wanna fight?”

They get into it pretty easily; circling each other, goading each other. Bucky loves it.

The first serious, non-playful blow is from Steve is a sharp punch to the solar plexus that knocks Bucky for a second.

“Come on, Bucks.” There’s a tease in Steve’s voice that twists Bucky’s insides as usual.

Bucky gets a sharp jab in to Steve’s ribs and an uppercut to his jaw. The third time he pulls his arm back to hit Steve, Steve catches it around the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. The force of it sends Bucky minutely off his balance, but it’s enough to give Steve a second to get two hard punches to Bucky’s ribs. It hurts, and he flinches, but it’s nothing he can’t take, nothing he doesn’t dole out easily either. Steve knows that too, so the grimace that spreads across Bucky’s face only seems to encourage Steve.

Bucky goes for an elbow strike to Steve’s face, but that’s his first major mistake today. Not only does Steve catch him around the bicep, but he pulls Bucky with him, turning him so that Bucky ends up in a tight choke hold. Well, the hold is tight, but not near enough to choke him - Steve wouldn’t do that.

Bucky uses his elbow again and gets a jab to Steve’s solar plexus. He gets in a second jab that he couples with a throw to flip Steve into his back in the mat. He stands over him, foot on Steve’s chest, just enough pressure to prove his point.

“Got you now, Rogers.”

But he doesn’t, and that’s his second mistake. Steve grips two hands to Bucky’s ankle and pulls him down gracelessly. “Never get cocky. It’s not over until it’s over.”

“Yeah, well. I’m used to it not being over until someone’s dead, so sue me,” Bucky grits out, scrambling to get upright, scrambling to get the upper hand back.

“That’s the whole point of us doing this,” Steve says, and winces as Bucky lands a sharp kick to his thigh.

“The whole point is to sue me?” Bucky smirks.

“The whole point is to beat me without almost killing me.”

“Almost? Pretty sure if I was trying to kill you, you’d be dead.” Another smirk. He’s having fun teasing Steve today, he always did.

“Yeah, that’s not the way I remember it.”

“You’re going down.”

Steve’s on his feet again in seconds, and they’re straight back into the fight.

He twists his metal hand into Steve’s tank top and pulls Steve forward, wrapping his flesh arm around Steve’s torso and holding him tight. Steve struggles and grunts and hooks one leg backwards around Bucky’s calf. Bucky surges forward to keep his balance, and Steve flips him onto the floor. Bucky’s still got a fistful of Steve’s shirt so when he hits the mat, half of Steve’s shirt goes with him.

Steve’s above him and he cracks up laughing looking at the tattered remains what used to be a Stark-logo tank top.

Bucky laughs too. It seems ridiculous; a stupid cotton shirt is so flimsy compared to Steve’s field uniform, and not really built for the sort of combat he and Steve have been practicing. He tosses his handful of fabric up to Steve who catches it and tosses it off to the side. Then he pulls the remnants of his shirt off over his head and throws that, too.

Bucky stops laughing then, when Steve curls his finger to indicate for Bucky to get up again, Bucky figures he’s going to have to fight a sweaty, shirtless Steve - and ain’t that a delight and a curse all rolled into to one.

They go through the motions again, and although Steve should by all rights be tired from a mission and a weight lifting session, he’s not going easy on Bucky at all.

He floors Bucky again, this time going down with him. They wrestle messily for a moment until Steve gets Bucky flat on his back, his legs over Bucky’s waist and his hands holding Bucky’s wrists.

Bucky has a vivid flashback, but not a panicked, dark and violent flashback like his usual ones. This time his mind jumps back to his sexy, hot, sweaty dream in which Steve straddled Bucky, naked and gorgeous, and did fantastic things with his mouth.

Bucky lies there panting, his heart racing, keenly aware on every inch of him that’s touching Steve. It’s so familiar and so dirty, and it shouldn’t be. He feels ashamed and hot all over, wide-eyed and sweaty and like his heart might escape through his throat.

He huffs and puffs, trying to stay calm but verging on panicking; he needs to get out from under Steve, right the fuck now, because he knows his body well enough to know the heat he’s feeling in his abdomen is something that Steve’s going to know about real soon if he doesn’t.

He watches Steve’s face so closely, Steve’s dark pupils watching right back, and he manages to wiggle one hand free from where Steve has them pinned over his head, just enough to tap the mat.

“You’re out?”

“Yeah. I-” _I’m turned on. I’m freaking out. I can’t stop thinking about you._ “I’m done for today.” He knows his voice sounds wrong, comes out more strangled than it should do.

Steve lets Bucky’s wrists go, pulls back enough that Bucky can shove him off a little too forcefully so that he can escape. He rubs at his hand, trying to rub away the shame of embarrassment, and his head is low, his shoulders slumped. He doesn’t meet Steve’s eye as he turns to leave, to hide.

“Bucky?”

“I’m out,” he manages to say.

“What do you mean?” Steve says, breathless and gorgeous.

“I’m out, as in I’m done.”

“Sit. We can go again if you want?” Steve offers, and Bucky’s sure that Steve can feel the panic rising inside Bucky. His posture is a dead giveaway but there’s an edge in his voice he can’t seem to mask.

“No, I’m out.”

“Wait. Did something happen? A flashback?”

It’s nowhere close to the horror that Bucky feels when a flashback hits, nowhere as bleak, as big or as consuming. This is...this is a different sort of panic, but not one that he can explain to Steve. He turns to face Steve who’s still on the mat, on his knees and looking up at Bucky with such concern. And, Jesus, the sight of Steve on his knees is enough that Bucky has to go.

“No. It’s fine, Steve. See you tomorrow?” he says, hoping to sound nonchalant, but it comes out all high-pitched and weird.

“Buck-” But Bucky waves his hand, half-dismissively, and heads towards the locker rooms without looking back towards Steve. He needs to go. He needs to clear his head.

He’s just inside the locker room, about to grab his shit so that he can go, get away from Steve and process everything, when the locker room door springs open and Steve barges inside.

“Are you okay?”

_No. In so many ways, no._ “Yes. Just leave me be.”

“No,” Steve snaps, tones of worry and concern seeping into his voice that Bucky feels so much guilt for. “Bucky, don’t lie to me. Don’t shut me out.”

“That’s not it,” Bucky all but shouts. It’s frustration and anger and exhaustion, and he just needs to leave.

“Then what?”

There’s such pleading in Steve’s eyes, such uncertainty. Bucky feels like he’s watching from outside his body, like he’s not quite in control of himself, but he leans forward and kisses Steve, right on the mouth. Maybe actions are easier than words right now, maybe it’s easier to explain by showing, but it’s too late to change that now anyway.

There’s a long moment where neither of them breathe, neither of them move, nothing happens but the press of lips. Steve’s eyes are still open, but there’s no longer confusion in them, just a question that Bucky can’t decipher. But Bucky closes his own eyes then, and chances moving his lips so that it turns into a soft, slow kiss, and it startles a squeak out of him when Steve kisses back, completely surprised that _Steve wants this too_.

It’s still soft and tentative, but the longer the kiss goes on, the more confident Bucky feels with it, so he inches forward and places his hands on Steve’s narrow waist so carefully. The extra contact feels good; Steve’s skin is heated and sweat-damp and so goddamn soft in Bucky’s hands.

“Bucky.” It’s barely audible, Steve only pulling back from the kiss enough to say it, his lips still so close to Bucky’s.  
Bucky searches Steve’s face for anything that he can decipher, but all he sees are flushed cheeks, blown pupils and mussed up hair. “Do you want to stop this?” he asks, hoping to god that Steve doesn’t.

The second and a half that Steve takes to answer feel like the longest he’s ever had to live through. “No.”

Bucky’s stomach flips at hearing that and he pulls Steve forwards against him, taking his mouth in another kiss.

This time the kisses are faster, hotter, more desperate. Steve’s hands are all over Bucky now; on his hips, his arms, in his hair. Bucky lets himself be walked backwards until his ass hits the sink counter with a thud, and then Steve’s pressed right up against him. With a solid object behind him, Bucky uses it for balance and spreads his thighs, meaning he can pull Steve even closer to him.

There’s no complaint from Steve, and in fact he sighs against Bucky’s mouth then they press together. The second that Bucky realises that the hardness he can feel pushing against him is actually Steve’s cock, he lets out a deep groan, because he can’t quite believe that Steve might be as turned on by this as he is.

Bucky’s a big guy, at least since his knock-off super serum, and heavy because of his metal arm, but Steve lifts him with relative ease so that he’s sitting on the counter with Steve standing right between his legs. It’s all that Bucky can do to breathe when he hitches his legs around Steve’s waist and holds on.

The fact that they started this when they were sweaty and breathless and Steve had already lost his shirt, means that everything feels heightened. Bucky trails his hand up Steve’s back, over the planes of muscle that move as Steve does. Steve’s fingers are in Bucky’s hair, moving softly, making gentle fists in the long strands. His other hand is on Bucky’s hip, moving only to touch the skin just under the hem of Bucky’s tank. Considering Bucky’s got his legs around Steve’s waist and Bucky can feel Steve’s dick drilling a hole in his sweats, it still feels kind of tame, even if it is so hot that Bucky feels like he could die at any moment.

Bucky hasn’t wanted to kill anyone since he was being controlled by Hydra, not really, but he definitely has murderous thoughts when he hears murmured voices from outside the locker room. Voices that are getting louder, which means-

They spring apart, and it’s a credit to Steve’s unflappability - he _is_ Captain America after all - that he looks somewhat composed when Hill opens the door, walks in and greets Steve like it’s no big deal. Though it really is no big deal to Hill; she didn’t have the hottest make-out session of their lives interrupted.

Bucky’s too busy trying to compose himself and to think of anything that will kill his boner to really listen to what Maria is saying, but he decides it’s best to duck into a bathroom stall, because otherwise he looks like he’s hanging around the locker room waiting for a sweaty, shirtless Steve, and for what?

He waits in the stall and it feels like an age that Maria has to make fucking small talk with Steve. Bucky hears something about _mission_ , _debrief_ and _analysis_. Bucky spends every second with his back pressed against the inside of the stall door praying that this can be over so that he can get back out there and get his hands and mouth all over Steve again.

Which doesn’t happen, because as soon as the conversation ends, when Bucky tentatively opens the stall door again, he’s alone in the bathroom.

He hits the showers at lightspeed, actively pushing away the worry and anxiety that Steve left the bathroom, left Bucky without them talking about what just happened. Although he wasn’t particularly listening, Bucky knows that there’s probably nothing to worry about and Steve was just called away for work, even if there’s _everything_ to worry about considering he’s just kissed Steve, his best friend in the world, the only person that really matters to him.

He ignores all of that, and concentrates on the ache in his dick that’s still there, that’s back full force once the water is blasting over him and he can get his hand around himself. He braces his metal arms on the tiles and goes hell for leather on himself, closing his eyes and remembering how it felt to be wrapped around Steve.

Steve’s arms, Steve’s thighs, Steve’s hot, bare skin, Steve hard and pressed against him, panting and moaning, and _god_ Bucky comes hard, biting back a groan and panting into the air as the hot water pours down on him, temporarily washing away anything else he should be thinking about.

He dresses quickly and heads back to his digs upstairs. While he’s holding out a hope that he will just happen to bump into Steve in the hallways for no reason, he doesn’t, and he’s not actually surprised.

He gets an ominous text from Steve that just reads _we should talk_ and he knows they have to, but he still hasn’t figured out how to approach it. He knows Nat would scold him, but he has no plan and he’s in no way prepared.

Bucky knows that realistically time is not going slower than usual, but it certainly feels that way as he paces his little Avengers Tower apartment, tries not to worry, not to think too hard about everything that happened.

He decides to bite the bullet and he texts Steve back to say he’s on his way over. At best, maybe Steve feels the same and there’s something there that they can build on. At worst this is going to be weird and awkward and horrible, and Bucky will have to leave because Steve doesn’t feel the same and was just trying to comfort Bucky, and okay, that’s pretty bad. But he _has_ to know.

When he knocks on Steve’s door he takes a breath, and then holds it without meaning to until Steve opens the door and Bucky comes face to face with the big blue eyes he’s been thinking about.

“Steve,” he says, and then kicks himself, because of course it is.

“Come in.” The smile is there, the warm, wide smile that Bucky loves, but it wavers for a second.

“I figured I should hide in the stall,” Bucky says at the same time as Steve says, “I got called away.” Then Bucky says, “I assumed you did,” at the same time as Steve says, “Makes sense,” and they both laugh.

Steve’s smile is a soothing balm, and Bucky feels relief flood his veins.

Bucky always loves Steve’s apartment, loves all the little personal things he has it decorated with. It’s like getting a tiny extra glimpse into his personality (and it’s a nice reminder that even Captain America forgets to do his laundry or leaves dirty dishes in the sink sometimes).

“So,” Bucky says. He perches uncomfortably on the edge of the couch. It feels strange to feel so awkward in Steve’s apartment, because this is the first place he stayed after everything, after Steve found him again. Bucky spent a long time on Steve’s couch, not really sleeping, but acclimatizing himself to everything. During the day while Steve was busy with Avengers business, Bucky would climb into Steve’s bed and nap. It made sense, because it was much more comfortable that the couch with the rogue spring, and the bedding was soft and smelled like Steve.

But he feels awkward now, despite everything, and more so when Steve sits on the other end of the couch. Too far away to touch, too far away for Bucky’s liking.

“So,” Steve echoes. “We were kinda interrupted earlier, but-”

“I think the word interrupted is the biggest fucking understatement,” Bucky says, making Steve laugh, and breaking the tension in the room. Bucky relaxes, even if he’s still got enough apprehension to fill a warehouse about what might happen next. “We got interrupted, alright. We were--”

Steve looks hesitant, and even though there’s a beautiful pink blooming in his cheeks, which is a look that Bucky’s familiar with, there’s a tiny smirk too, as he says, “Kissing? Making out?” Steve must clock the look of surprise on Bucky’s face because then he says, “Bucky, I don’t think we should beat around the bush about this. We need to talk about it.” He looks hesitant again. “Unless-- you don’t want to. Do you want to?”

Yes,” Bucky says. God, yes. This is so important. He wants to laugh, because even though he’s walked blindly into fights he probably shouldn’t have survived, moving seats to sit right beside Steve fills him with nerves. But he moves over so that he’s right up close to Steve, close enough that their knees bump.

“Yes, I wanna talk about it,” Bucky says again.

“Well then.” Steve hesitates and looks very cautious. Bucky knows Steve well enough - or he used to anyway - to know that Steve’s nervous. “If this is something that you tried just to help you cope, if it’s something you need, then I think I can do that for you.”

“What? No, that’s not-- you think that’s why I kissed you?”

“It’s okay,” Steve says seriously. “Everyone processes things in different ways. If you need something to distract you then maybe I can give you that.”

Bucky wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him because he’s so very far off the mark. “No, that’s not why I kissed you. I wasn’t having a panic attack or a flashback. I was embarrassed and turned on, and okay, I was a little panicked, but not for the reason you think.”

Steve just stares at him so Bucky takes a breath and continues.

“I left training because I can’t stop thinking about you, and you’re my best friend in the whole fucking world. My only real friend. And we’ve been spending a lot of time horizontal lately even if it was training.” Steve smiles. “And I just couldn’t--I can’t keep doing that when I’m thinking about you pinning me to the mat and doing things that don’t belong in a training session. I can keep babbling,” he says. “I can keep talking, but I’m not sure I can explain it any better, I even kind of talked to Natasha about it-”

“You talked to Nat about this?” He gestures wildly between them. “About me?”

Bucky twists his face into a grimace. “Not intentionally, but she actually gave some advice.”

“Which was?” Steve asks, open curiosity all over his face.

“You really wanna know?” Bucky asks regretting opening his mouth. His conversation with Natasha may have helped his decision making but he’s still mortified.

“C’mon man. You told Natasha you’ve a crush on me-”

“Not a crush. I’m falling in love with you” Bucky insists.

Steve simpers, and looks so pleased that Bucky wants to squeeze him. “But you talked to her.”

“I didn’t really mean to. But she said to approach it like a tactical operation.” Steve laughs so hard he throws his head back. “She meant make a plan and be methodical about it, proactive and precise. I think she meant to just go for it with you. But I couldn’t be that direct, not really.”

“You kinda were, Buck.”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, but not on purpose. That part- the kiss - wasn’t planned out.”

Steve smiles warmly at him. “I’m glad you did it.”

It’s only at that point that Bucky realises that with all his babbling, and what with Steve taking this very well indeed, Steve hasn’t actually said anything about he feels. “You are?”

“Bucky” he says, and he sounds very serious again. He clears his throat, and Bucky just stares at him, his heart beating so hard he can barely stand it. “Ever since we met, back when I was that skinny, sickly kid, I’ve looked up to you. We’ve been friends forever, and even a little bit of ice and an assassination attempt couldn’t keep us apart for too long. I just--I thought you knew.”

Steve looks concerned and confused and Bucky wants to reach up and smooth the crinkle from his brow. “Knew what?”

“That I’ve been halfway in love with you since you were saving my ass back in the thirties. And it’s not quite the same as it used to be. We grew up, we have a whole world of things to deal with these days, but you’re still my friend, still Bucky. What I feel hasn’t changed. I still love you.”

“Really?” Bucky asks. He can feel himself inching forward, his curiosity acting like a magnet that pulls him to Steve.

“Really.”

Steve kisses Bucky then, and unlike the first time their lips touched, this kiss feels sure from the outset. Bucky sighs into the kiss, content to have Steve’s mouth on his, content that Steve just uttered the words he did. This is more than Bucky could have ever wished for, more than Bucky deserves--

“Stop thinking, Buck. Stop worrying,” Steve mumbles. “Just let me-”

Steve kisses him again, a little harder this time, fits his hand to Bucky’s jaw too. Bucky does stop worrying, but he doesn’t stop thinking, though all his thoughts are concerning Steve’s hands and mouth and body.

As Steve explores the inside of Bucky’s mouth with his tongue - slowly, softly - Bucky takes the time to explore Steve’s body. Their fumble in the locker rooms now feels like light years ago and all the details have faded into a blur of skin and limbs. Bucky wants to remember this, so he tries to take his time.

He runs his hands up Steve’s arms, up to the hem of his short sleeves and feels the curves of his biceps, the soft skin. He keeps on moving his hand up until he can brush his fingers through Steve’s hair, and Steve likes it because he moves closer to Bucky, kisses him harder.

Bucky tries to keep it simple kissing to start with, just little touches and long, slow kisses, but Steve’s eager, and his enthusiasm has Bucky twitching and hungry for more. He can feel the heat of Steve’s body through his clothes and he can’t help but remember that the last time they kissed that Steve was shirtless and sweaty and gorgeous. He grasps the fabric of Steve’s shirt in his fist and Steve hums against his mouth, reciprocating by slipping his hand up under Bucky’s t-shirt.

Bucky lets his hand rest on Steve’s knee briefly, but he can’t manage to leave it there - he wants to explore more of Steve’s body, so he lets it travel slowly up Steve’s thigh to his waist. When he gets his hands on Steve’s hips, he _pulls_ Steve forward until they’re pressed together, until Bucky leans back and Steve’s full weight is on top of him, holding him down to the sofa. Bucky groans because he’s been thinking about this so much recently.

Bucky spreads his legs until Steve settles between them, right into the vee of them. Steve feels so solid in his arms. The hard muscles of his chest and arms and thighs are solid and comforting, but also hot as hell and Bucky feels himself getting so fired up. Then he slides his hands down to cup Steve’s ass through his jeans and squeezes. Apart from the fact that Steve’s ass is firm and round and fucking perfect, Steve makes the most gorgeous sound when Bucky touches it.

Steve gets a little more daring - his hands find Bucky’s hips and then he slides his palms up under the shirt to touch Bucky’s sides and hips. His hands travel up further to pinch at Bucky’s nipples until Bucky’s a squirming mess under Steve. Bucky loves it, and loves it more when Steve pulls Bucky’s shirt off entirely.

They lose most of their clothes when Steve leads Bucky to the bedroom, and then they’re both just in their underwear. Bucky can’t believe he gets to undress Steve like this. The increasing inches of skin he gets to touch, the extra planes of flesh and muscle he gets to explore, they all add to the heat in Bucky’s belly, the fire building in his veins.

The thin fabric of Bucky’s boxers is no match for his erection, and a thrill runs electric through Bucky whenever Steve grinds forward, whenever Bucky arches his hips upwards. It’s pure indulgent lust, and Bucky is certain that after everything that’s happened, after everything he’s done, he doesn’t deserve to feel this good. He uses every ounce of will he has to push that thought down so that he can focus on Steve’s mouth as it makes slow, wet kisses along Bucky’s collar bone.

“What do you want, Buck?” Steve’s voice is rich and deep and oh-so gorgeous.

Bucky hasn’t been so good at asking for what he wants lately. Ever since Steve found him again, he’s tried not to ask for anything. He thinks he knows what he wants here, but to ask for it blatantly feels like giving some of himself away. Though maybe some of him belongs to Steve anyway.

“I want--” He arches his back and gasps as Steve’s thumb drags over a nipple. “I want you to hold me down. I dreamt-- I’ve been enjoying when you pin me down during our fights.”

“Hold you down?” Steve says, his mouth moving slowing down Bucky’s torso, kissing achingly slowly, leaving a wet trail in its wake.

“Yeah. Hold me down and fuck me.” Steve makes a muffled little groan into Bucky’s skin which lets Bucky know Steve wants it too.

Bucky rolls onto his stomach, and though he feels vulnerable sticking his ass in the air, the sure stroke of Steve’s hand on his back is a comfort that dissolves his unease.

Bucky’s tight because, yeah okay, it’s been a while, a _long_ while, and Steve uses far too much lube. His finger slips in, and Bucky makes a little whimper. He tries to hold in his moans and gasps, but Steve’s touching him just right, working his fingers in such a perfect way, that Bucky doesn't care. Before long he’s arching and writhing and making a symphony of noises, all of which he makes into Steve’s pillow.

By the time they’re ready, by the time Steve is lining himself up between Bucky’s spread legs, Bucky’s on his back again and he’s desperate for it. His heart hammers in his chest and he thinks his lungs might give out. Steve’s inhales a shaky breath and as he presses inside Bucky’s so slowly, he exhales a moan that goes straight to Bucky’s cock.

The first few of strokes are slow and careful, Steve airing on the cautious side, but Bucky can tell how much he’s holding back. He wants to tell Steve to hurry up, to fuck him harder, to hold him down until all Bucky can think of is the waves of pleasure that a running through him. That’s too many words to say though, far too much brain power right now. He just says “Please. Please, Steve. Pleasepleaseplease,” and Steve gets it.

He not only speeds up, pushing his dick faster into Bucky, but the pressure increases too until he’s fucking into Bucky harder and deeper, and the entire world, all but Steve Rogers, falls away.

Bucky feels Steve’s strong hands close over his wrists as they’re pinned down to the bed. He groans deep as he arches into it, straining into Steve’s hands, pushing down against his cock. He can feel his skin prickling hot all over, feel his eyelashes damp with sweat. He’s so far gone now and it feels overwhelming in the best way. 

This feeling of being pinned down, of giving his control away to Steve who he trusts so implicitly feels liberating. He stretches again under Steve’s grip and is met with the same resistance; Steve’s not letting him go. And maybe Bucky should feel alarmed about that, considering his frequent panic attacks involving being strapped to a table, but the way Steve kisses him and the look of wonder in Steve’s eyes tell Bucky that he’ll be okay. So he tunes into his body again, just like Steve taught him, and he commits these details to memory - the ones of being held down willingly. He hopes that they will be useful to reflect on later.

He also tunes into his body and how it feels to have Steve all over his skin, the fullness of Steve inside him, the sweat beading on his temples and upper lip. He feels all of it, and he knows he’ll never forget this moment.

Steve’s losing control above Bucky, his hips snapping forward into Bucky faster, losing rhythm. He looks so gorgeous, with his eyes closed and his hair plastered to his forehead. His hands are still around Bucky’s wrists, but then he switches the hold them both in just one and gets the other between them to wrap around Bucky’s dick.

Bucky moans and writhes and pushes in all directions at the same time, and he feels like he’s on fire all over, so gloriously turned on. All he wants is Steve, and he’s caught between desperately needing to orgasm, and the wish for this to never, ever end.

He closes his eyes and lets himself go, lets go of everything but the thought that this is Steve, _his_ Steve. He’s never been so happy in his life.

“Bucky! Buck, I can’t -- I’m gonna come.” And then Steve does, leaning his weight on Bucky as he comes deep inside him. The sensory overload; the sound of Steve orgasming, the smell of his body, the weight of him; it’s all too much, and Bucky comes too, with a cry of his own that leaves his lungs screaming but his heart full of love.

Steve doesn’t move. He stays put on top of Bucky, his softening dick still inside him, and Bucky holds on tight, his arms wrapped around Steve’s back. Steve’s breathing is harsh, ragged, and after a moment he lifts his head from Bucky’s shoulder to kiss him, long and soft and deep and Bucky melts into a post-orgasm puddle on Steve’s sheets.

Eventually Steve moves, knotting off the condom to dispose of it, and then cleaning the come from Bucky’s belly with a washcloth.

There’s a shyness between them, something that twists inside Bucky’s chest again, that Steve could be sweet and coy after such blazing hot sex. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are glazed, making him look thoroughly, blissfully fucked out.

“C’mere,” Bucky says, and Steve rolls over beside him so that they can cuddle. “I’ll admit it’s been a while since I had any sort of sex, but I think that went pretty well?”

Steve giggles. “Yeah, I’d tend to agree.” He rests his palm on Bucky’s hip, moving his fingers idly over the skin, and it’s so comforting.

“So maybe we can do it again then. Seeing as it went so well and all.”

“Maybe we should have been doing it all along,” Steve says, and that means so much to Bucky. He lets Steve pull him close so that they’re wrapped in each other’s arms, and Bucky falls asleep easily for the first time in a very long time.

*

Bucky wakes with a jolt. Everything about his surrounding is unfamiliar - the room, the shape of the light coming through the curtains, the smell, the feeling of an unfamiliar comforter against his skin. He panics, sits bolt upright, and tries to breathe.

It’s not that he thinks he’s back _there_ , back where he’s drugged and brainwashed and tied down, but he’s still in a panic as his heart hammers and sweat trickles down the back of his neck.

He can control himself enough to pick up on the tiny sound of breathing in the room, and he looks to his left to see the shadowy shape of Steve sleeping soundly beside him. It’s a comfort, but a small one, and he struggles to keep his panic under control enough to get himself out of the bed, stumbling out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen.

He leans against the counter in the kitchen and counts his breaths, tunes into his body to quell the panic inside him, hoping this isn’t going to turn into a full blown panic attack.

When he’s counted to one hundred breaths he lets himself think about the dream that woke him - a dark room, faceless people, sounds of machinery and hushed voices. The usual. Waking up in Steve’s apartment instead of his own didn’t help, but he’s safe and okay - physically at least.

He’s still standing naked in Steve’s kitchen, still gripping the countertop, breathing and doing his best to stay calm so that he can go get back into bed, when Steve appears at the door and pads across the kitchen to him.

“You okay?” Steve asks, his voice grave like he knows Bucky’s not.

“Yeah, just, you know,” Bucky says, waving his hand in the air, knowing Steve knows what’s going on.

“Can I help?”

“I don’t think do. I just need -- you know.”

Steve looks concerned. He walks right up to Bucky, and he’s not naked, he had the foresight to pull on pajama pants. He puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and the touch is so gentle it’s like trying to pet a stray cat and not scare him away. Bucky’s not likely to get scared away, especially by Steve.

“It’s not -- it’s not because of -,” Steve cuts himself off looking unsure and cautious. He blushes as he says, “It’s not because of me, is it? Because of what we did? Holding you down, and --

“No!” Bucky says. “It’s not -- I _liked_ that.”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his and looks down at their tangled fingers, his thick eyelashes fanning on his cheeks. While Steve’s looking down, Bucky’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s naked and wishes he’d had enough brain power to scramble in the dark for his underwear before he left Steve’s bedroom.

“I just don’t want to do anything triggering for you, Buck. That was intense, you know.”

“No, I know that,” Bucky says. His voice sounds calmer even to himself, even if he still doesn’t feel right yet. “I wanted to do all of that. My choice. And I trust you.”

“I trust you too, Bucky.” Steve looks hesitant, his eyes dark and full of too many worries. “If I can do anything to help you, you know-”

“You can’t fix me, Steve,” Bucky snaps, and he regrets it as soon as he sees the look on Steve’s face, sees that he’s picked up the sentiment wrong.

“Bucky, I know that - I’m not - I’m not trying to fix you. You’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself. I know what it’s like to go through trauma, to have demons that don’t leave you, and to have them follow you even into your sleep. I just want you to know you’re not on your own, okay? Whatever you have to deal with, to go through, if I can support you, even if it’s just sparing to distract you- I’ll do whatever I can.”

Bucky just nods, so grateful for Steve and his worrying. He still doesn’t feel right, feels antsy and his brain is still going too fast to feel calm or sleepy.

“Came back to bed?” Steve asks.

“I won’t sleep. Not after that.”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t need much sleep. Side effect of the serum,” Steve says. He smiles, breaking the serious tone.

“What do we do then if we don’t sleep?”

“I usually read a book or watch a movie. Sometimes I read stuff for a mission. We don’t have to do anything, Buck.”

They settle back into Steve’s bed with enough light spilling in from the hallway that Bucky can just make out Steve’s silhouette getting comfy and fluffing up the comforter. Bucky shuffles over, follows the warmth of Steve’s body until he’s tucked under Steve’s arm, cheek resting on Steve’s chest.

They stay awake for hours, chatting about everything and nothing and staring into the darkness together. Bucky begins to feel relaxed, little by little, as the hours tick by. Steve pets his hair, fingers carding gently through the long strands, and Bucky can’t ever remember someone playing with his hair before. Such a simple act, something so innocent, feels unbelievably intimate.

At some point, somewhere before night turns to day, Steve falls asleep again. Bucky doesn’t; he stays awake and continues to stare into the darkness. He looks around Steve’s room and makes a decision to memorise what details he can. He wants to make a habit of staying over with Steve - if Steve will let him, of course - and being comfortable and familiar with his surroundings will help, he feels. So in the tiny amount of light available he has he looks around. He sees Steve’s closets, a heap of clothes on the back of a chair, the shadowy lines of framed photographs on the wall - one of which he knows is of him and Steve from the forties, and another that Bucky knows is from the thirties when Steve was still all skinny. Bucky takes in as many other details as he can - the pattern the street lights make the the wall, the shape of the curtain pole, the softness of Steve’s pillows, the smell of Steve’s laundry detergent, how warm and solid Steve is next to him, and how it feels to have Steve’s arm around him.

He goes through the details again and again, over and over, silently repeating them to himself like a mantra until he knows them by heart. Maybe the next time he wakes from a nightmare in Steve’s bed things will be a little easier.

Going through all the shadowy details of the room stills Bucky’s mind a little, and eventually he must drift off to sleep because the next thing he knows is Steve trying to gently wake him. He feels Steve’s palm on his bare shoulder and Steve speaking softly.

“Buck, I gotta go. I’ve a meeting with Fury. I won’t be long.”

“Hmm?” 

Bucky rolls himself over, his body tangled in blankets, and he couldn’t ask for a prettier sight first thing after waking up. Steve’s lying beside him, on top of the blankets, freshly showered and fully dressed.

“I won’t be long,” Steve repeats, softer still. “I’ll bring you back breakfast.”

Bucky feels sleep-dopey, not yet awake enough to process much. He manages to roll himself a little further so that he’s tucked against Steve again, wraps one arm around Steve’s middle to hold him there. 

“Stay,” Bucky says, the dread from the night before far enough behind him at the moment to feel playful and relaxed. 

“Can’t. Fury will have my ass if I’m late.”

“I’ll have your ass if your stay,” Bucky says, keeping his voice low and tugging Steve forward to kiss him now that he can. Steve laughs a throaty little laugh and gives in, kissing Bucky back. Steve tastes like toothpaste and smells like shampoo, and though Bucky is half wrapped in a comforter, the feeling of Steve’s body pressed against his morning wood is divine.

“I have to go,” Steve says into the kiss. “But I won’t be gone long. We can train this afternoon if you like?” 

Bucky shakes his head. Maybe they need a day off from that. “No fighting today,” he says. 

Steve smiles one of those devastating smiles, one that’s like sunshine lighting Bucky up from the inside. He climbs over Bucky now and sits on Bucky’s hips, like a two hundred pound ball of muscle and blond hair. “What a shame,” he pouts. “I was looking forward to rolling around a mat with you for a couple hours, getting all sweaty. Lots of hand to hand action, you know?”

Bucky grins and pulls Steve down by a handful of t-shirt. He kisses him quickly and says, “Maybe we can fit in a quick session, then. You probably need the extra training, old man.”

Steve laughs. “You’re older.”

There’s another long kiss, and even though Bucky will see Steve in a matter of hours, he’s a little sad that Steve has to leave.

Bucky sits up in bed with the blankets around his waist. He glances around Steve’s bedroom as Steve pulls on his leather motorcycle jacket, and sees all of the things he saw the night before. But now, in the light of day they look different, and Bucky notes how everything looks different without shadows covering them. 

Steve looks at him for a long minute.“I won’t be long,” he says again, more seriously than before. “But let me know if you need anything.” Bucky knows the sentiment behind those words mean more than if Bucky needs Steve to bring him home a coffee. 

And though he knows he’s doing okay on his own, though he knows his problems are not going to fade into a glowing, sparkly heart now that he has the man he loves by his side, he’s grateful.

“I will,” he says, and he means it.


End file.
